


Pick

by Enchantable



Category: Roswell New Mexico (TV 2019)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, self soothing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-09
Updated: 2019-06-08
Packaged: 2020-04-23 06:49:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,246
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19145734
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Enchantable/pseuds/Enchantable
Summary: “You ever think about playing again?” Michael asks.“I do play,” Alex says, picking up a piece of metal he’s filed and softened and worked into one, “I also clean out my pockets at night,” he adds, pulling off a piece of lint.“Well we can’t all be perfect,” Michael says.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Original Prompt: hey! I absolutely adore your writing and I was just wondering if whenever you get the chance, no rush or pressure at all, if you could write something where Alex goes through a bad PTSD episode and dissociates but Michaels there and helps him, calms him and brings him back, please?

“Do you have a pick on you?”

Michael looks up at the question. Alex asks it calmly, like he’s asking about the weather. Or how his day’s been. Like they’ve been speaking for the past few months. Michael almost tells him he can fuck off back to the passive aggressive kingdom he escaped from, when he notices the way Alex is standing. That perfectly erect posture, the tension that seems to be in every line. But it’s more than that. Alex is quick, almost to a fault. Now even Michael can see how slow his movements are. Right down to how he blinks.

“Yeah, ‘course,” he shoves his hand into his jeans and comes out with a handful of them, holding them out. Alex a blue one and nods to him in that same slow, stiff way. Turning back to his other friends.

“Bring it back before you go,” Michael says, “I like that one.” Alex looks out at the corner of his eye but gives a nod of acknowledgement and returns to his friends.

Michael drinks more beers than he intends to, though out of the corner of his eye he keeps an eye on Alex. The guitar pick is constantly in his fingers as he flicks it between them. But the tension starts to ease slightly. His movements become more natural. To the point where Michael can focus elsewhere. He beats a couple guys in pool and actually manages to pay his tab off for once. He figures he’s banked at least a little good karma by the time he steps out into the night.

“Hey,” He turns to see Alex standing there, pick in hand, “here. Thanks.”

The clipped tone lacks the slowness of before, Michael listens for it carefully. Thankfully it just sounds like Alex being forced to have a conversation he doesn’t want to have. Michael faces him fully and shoves his hands in his pockets. Alex scowls and lowers his hand, pick still clenched in his fingers and held out slightly towards him.

“You can keep it. I just said that to check in at the end of the night and make sure you were ok,” he says.

Alex’s scowl deepens, if that’s remotely possible. But Alex has always had a special hatred for things he doesn’t understand.

“You could have just said that,” he says.

“I figured you wouldn’t,” Michael replies.

Alex can’t really argue with that but damn if he doesn’t try. Michael hates the awkwardness that lays between them. He misses the days when things were simpler. It’s ironic because in those days he used to find himself missing when they were kind. Alex looks anywhere but him as he collects his thoughts and Michael shoves aside the near overwhelming desire to kiss him until that furrow in his brow smoothes out.

“I’m glad you’re okay,” he says, trying to keep his voice as neutral as possible. Alex finally looks at him again and he shrugs, “I can still want you to be okay,” he says, hating how it feels like a secret to say that aloud.

“Thanks,” Alex says and Michael can pick out the wariness in his voice, but his arm relaxes and Michael will take the victories where he can, “what’s this made out of?” Alex asks finally.

“Tagua Nut,” Michael says.

“Tagua Nut?” Alex repeats, thumbing the pick. Michael nods, “what happened to plastic?”

“I got those too,” Michael says, pulling out the picks.

Alex wavers only for a moment before coming over to look. Since he started playing in earnest again, all his clothes have somehow started to collect picks or things that could be picks. He’s learning to experiment with different sounds and maybe for the first time, it doesn’t feel like every minute away from the lab is a betrayal.

“You ever think about playing again?” Michael asks.

“I do play,” Alex says, picking up a piece of metal he’s filed and softened and worked into one, “I also clean out my pockets at night,” he adds, pulling off a piece of lint.

“Well we can’t all be perfect,” Michael says. Alex scoffs and drops the pick back into his hand.  Michael ignores the new softness in the familiar gesture and  instead puts them back in his pockets. It’s a risk but he decides maybe it’s okay to take one when it comes to Alex. Especially when he was okay coming to him for help, “maybe we can play together sometime,” he says.

“Maybe,” Alex says noncommittally. It’s not the answer he wants but it’s not an immediate rejection, “I should get back to my friends.”

“I gotta get home,” he says. Neither moves, “but seriously I’m glad you’re feeling better.”

“Thank you for the help,” Alex says, managing to only look mildly disgusted before he softens, “I appreciate it.”

“Anytime,” Michael says, surprised at how he means it.

Alex nods and finally turns, pulling away first but then Michael’s used to the familiar roles. He can feel something shift though, something turn over. He watches as Alex hesitates only long enough to look back. Their eyes meet and Michael realizes the shift is towards hope. He’s never felt that when Alex walks away. The simplicity of just saying goodbye and knowing you’re going to see someone again. It’s a bittersweet taste, but he doesn’t shy away from it. Instead he turns and walks away, reasoning he’s had enough for the night.

It’s not until much later that he jumps up from bed and fishes through his pockets. The metal pick is there but he’s shy the other one. The one Alex took. The hope bubbles in his chest and even though it’s unbearably late he whips out his phone and thumbs off a quick text before getting back into bed. For the first time in a long time he falls asleep with a smile on his face.

_You know that pick is called a saucer?_


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Original Prompt: Hey! I loved your fic about Alex dissociating, I think you wrote it really well! would it be possible for you to write Michael helping and being there for Alex with other aspects of his PTSD as well, please?

It’s an impossibly hot summer day as they all crowd into the drive in.

Michael is nervous.

He’s newly single and coming off of a hell of a year. His heart has been broken and superglued more times than he cares to think about. But Max is back and Liz is tucked against his side. And Isobel is vaguely less full of rage, though honestly she’s always someone that Michael wouldn’t fuck with in any genuine way. Equally important is the man he’s saving the spot on the back of his truck for. The one who appears almost silently and shyly holds out a six pack peace offering.

“Right on time,” Michael says, “I bought popcorn.”

“And a blanket,” Alex says, surveying the truck.

“Might as well make it comfortable,” he shrugs.

Alex gives him a hard look but sets the six pack down anyway and hops up. Granted Michael has found a blanket with about fifty different textures in case Alex needs to self soothe. The popcorn also might help give the success of sensations on pulling him out of his disassociating episodes. Asking for help is something Alex still largely equates with weakness. Michael takes what he can get when Alex is settled on the back with him, drawing his legs up and look at the screen.

It’s a hot summer day but Michael is getting better at seeing when the shift occurs. Out of the corner of his eye. Alex of course doesn’t like being watched and he’s good at hiding them until he’s ready to ask for help. But the shiver that works up Alex’s spine isn’t that hard to mask. Michael feels like he’s dying in the heat so seeing him shiver is surprising. He looks up to see surprise, frustration and annoyance fly across Alex’s face before he folds his arms around himself and sets his jaw. Michael is sure that if Alex didn’t have a jacket on he would have goosebumps.

Michael shifts a bit closer.

Alex whips his head around and their eyes lock. Michael knows he’s changing some of the rules. Alex leads, Alex initiates, these are Alex’s symptoms. It’s usually right after the moment when he thinks Alex won’t ask him for help that he does, but here he’s gone a bit farther. Alex doesn’t look pleased but he also looks miserable so Michael doesn’t move.

“What are you doing?” Alex asks.

“Getting closer to you,” Michael says, “it’s hot as balls out here.”

“I’m sure the blanket isn’t helping,” Alex says.

“Nope, so I’m coming over to you,” Michael says and scoots closer just to make his point.

Alex huffs but uncrosses his arms and eases back. Michael was expecting him to play chicken with him before maybe doing that, but it’s a night of surprises when he settles back against him. He closes his eyes for a moment before blowing out a breath and opening them, looking at the screen and then back over to Michael.

“Your truck’s loud,” he says.

Michael reaches over him to grab a beer and transfers it to his other hand, leaving the one over Alex’s shoulders in place. Alex doesn’t say anything but he moves slightly closer. Michael keeps his mouth shut but he ticks that his truck is not loud when Alex does it the first time. Or the second time. Or any of the times over the course of the movie. By the time it’s done they are close together on the back of the truck, Alex seemingly having decided that the embarrassment of him shivering is worse than the embarrassment of him leaning into a criminal. He’s superior to PTSD symptoms which shouldn’t be a thing but is.

“Thank you,” Alex says quietly.

“You don’t have to thank me,” Michael says, waving him off, “it sucks, I get it.”

Alex is quiet for a moment.

“I didn’t realize why you were so good at this,” he admits.

“Come on,” Michael dismisses, “that’s not—“

“It is,” Alex cuts in, sacrificing the warmth of him to turn so he can look at him fully. Michael fights to swallow against the lump in his throat, knowing exactly where this is going, “does anyone—“ Michael looks away, “of course they don’t.”

Michael blushes and looks away. He hates the word trauma. It makes him feel powerless. Michael would rather throw himself into things, rather get there to the end where everything is fine. Alex and his family might be the only two things he’s had patience with since he was a very small kid who still had things like hope and faith. The only one who might have had an inkling once was Max, after some training he underwent, but Michael had warned him off. Max having more resources again wasn’t something he could stomach when he was still mastering having one hand.

“It’s stupid,” Michael says with a shrug, “you’ve been to war. What happened to me—“ he shrugs, “it’s not a big deal. Besides it’s not like I’m diagnosed or anything. Probably just spent one too many nights on WebMD.”

“Guerin,” Alex says in that way of his that makes the last name Michael has never cared much about sound like the one that matters, “it’s not stupid.”

Michael looks down, feeling very much like it is stupid and Alex is just being nice. But Alex, who has yet to take a hint, ducks his head so Michael has to look at him. It’s not fair, he thinks. He wanted a night to prove that he could be there, to prove that Alex should maybe slightly consider giving him another shot. Not for Alex to realize he also has it and once again have to change things for him. Alex has been to war, he has a right to the diagnosis. Michael has just had some bad shit happen to him that he should be over by now.

“It’s not stupid,” Alex repeats.

“You said that already,” Michael tells him.

Alex sets his face with determination and scoots closer.

“I’ll say it again, til your sick of hearing it.”

“You hate repeating yourself,” Michael points out.

Alex shrugs.

It catches him off guard because Alex quintessentially hates repeating himself. It’s like a hallmark of his personality. But he shrugs it off like he’s not equally impatient. Michael feels embarrassed, knowing Alex has more than likely slotted together the puzzle pieces. Her’s deliberately slow when he moves so Michael is in front and he’s the one with his arm down his spine and against the truck. Compression has usually been the thing that pulls Michael back, but it’s easier to tell people he just likes to cuddle.

“You still cold?” He asks.

“Yeah,” Alex says and Michael pushes a little closer, “Thanks.”

“Anytime,” He says.

They’re still close when the movie finishes and Michael realizes that there are people there. He’s decent at ignoring them and sometimes he zones them out for no reason. Or without a decision to do so on his part. He ignores the gut twist that usually comes with doing that. Instead he focuses on the steadiness of Alex’s breathing and how he hasn’t shivered in a while. He also might take a moment to think about how nice it is to have Alex’s steadiness against him. To just have Alex there.

“Hey, Alex?” He glances back at him, “thanks.”

Alex smiles, genuine and soft and something Michael realizes he hasn’t seen on his face in a while.

“Anytime, Guerin,” He says.

**Author's Note:**

> So the guitar pick that Michael gives Alex is made by a brand called Howling Monkey. It's a very tactile pick and one way that people will soothe with dissociative episodes is to use something tactile.


End file.
